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Terrance hops on Drake’s “Dreams Money Can Buy” instrumental and does damage. This is a Drake diss, following fire exchanged by other Young Money and G.O.O.D. members, but whether Pusha claims it as one or not remains to be seen.

Lyrics

Pusha T

(Eyuck) The nerve of you
He’ll sit and clip at your lines like he ain’t heard ‘a ya
I seen it happen before, that man’ll murder ya
The lowest form of a thief is a cat burglar
Tiptoein’, but the whole while clonin’
The elephant’s in the room, the bitch glowin’
Like a ghetto girl with the good weave sewn in
She walk like its hers, but the whole world knowin’
Told niggas it’s the new god flow
It’s that New Testament and the old god knows
And you new niggas don’t get to pass Go
I’ll monopolize, Boardwalk Empire flow
So don’t mention me in the same breath, I’m Genghis
Just ventin’, I never wished to be famous
Truth told, I’d much rather be strangers
Before it leads to me turnin’ niggas to angels
Local niggas hatin’, but I can’t blame ‘em
Cleared the road to the riches but I can’t pave ‘em
Put Trey up on your hook, still couldn’t save ‘em
Better chance with a snowball hittin’ Satan

Dreams money can buy, three racks just spent on my Marty McFlys
Now I’m back to the future, my career deja vu you
When you motherfuckers thought I would hardly survive

You see, it’s a lot of people out there to be fucked wit’
I am not one
Re-Up Gang
Don’t fuck wit’ me

Rappers on their sophomores, actin’ like they boss lords
Fame such a funny thing, for sure
When niggas start believing all them encores
I’m just the one to send you off, bonjour
See yourself as I pull up in that mirror tint
Skins vers’ blouses, you mirror Prince
Chappelle Show, all of you Neal Brennans
Sketch comedy, who is for real pennin’?
The talk don’t match the leather, the swag don’t match the sweaters
And wolves don’t walk with shepherds
These Margiela verses, all you mall-dwellers
Off-the-rack suits, lookin’ like pallbearers
Coffins for my old bitches’ orphans
Daddy’s M-I-A like a Dolphin
Play the Fendi bucket like a shark’s fin
Cool J-ing on you bitches but I’m dark-skinned
We walked in, seats courtside
Dap Diddy, Will Ferrell on my walk by
At the U.S. Open, there’s much more to Queens
Versace blue-blockers, row behind Oracene
(Oooh!)

Dreams money can buy, three racks just spent on my Marty McFlys
Now I’m back to the future, my career deja vu you
When you motherfuckers thought I would hardly survive